


Some of the Parts

by PaigeTurner



Series: Gestalt [2]
Category: Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-17
Updated: 2013-01-16
Packaged: 2017-11-25 19:25:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/642209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaigeTurner/pseuds/PaigeTurner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a direct sequel to Gestalt. A lot of talk, no real action. No questionable content in this one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bits and Pieces

**Author's Note:**

> This picks up exactly where the end of Gestalt left off. If you skipped chapter 2, you can still pick up here knowing that Fury (and Bruce, Tony and Thor) has just received a briefing from Natasha’s doctor on the extent of her injuries and has sent the Avengers off to get some rest.

Two agents, not nurses or orderlies, moved Clint from the bed to a wheelchair. Neither of them spoke and when the door opened, Clint understood why. The director was waiting in the hallway. He took control of the wheelchair, dismissing the agents with a wave.

“Sir,” Agent Barton said softly. It’d taken about four hours for the combativeness and disorientation to wear off. He’d been still and silent since then. Fury didn’t answer, pulling Clint backwards through a doorway. He spun the wheelchair around and heard Clint gasp. 

Natasha was small in the hospital bed, and covered in gauze and tape. An IV line, a line for the heart monitor, and a breathing tube emerged from her, leading off to various machines crowded around the bed. What he could see of her skin was ashen, her lips pale and cracked around the tube. The beep of the monitor and the hum and whoosh of the ventilator seemed overwhelmingly loud in the tiny room.

Clint shook, staring at his handiwork. 

“Take a good, long look, Agent Barton,” Fury’s voice hissed in his ear. Clint was quickly crumbling, dissolving into tears. His sobs wracked his body with convulsive tremors. 

“I didn't…” he gasped. “Want. To.”

“But you did. Where’s Loki? Where’s the man responsible?”

Clint shook his head, tears dripping into his lap. He was bent nearly double in the chair, weeping into his knees. “I don’t know,” Clint choked out the words. “He never…never told me the plan. I was…” he couldn't speak.

“You were what?” Fury’s voice was cold.

“Supposed to die. At the farm.” 

Fury nodded. “We’ll be in New York in the morning. You've got an appointment with Dr. Chisholm. Between now and then, you’re going to tell me everything.” He started pulling the wheelchair back towards the door.

“Wait.” Clint’s voice was no more than a whisper. He looked up at the still figure in the bed. A porcelain doll of his partner and friend. “Natasha,” he swallowed hard. “I’m so sorry.”

***

Tony sat down with a half-gallon jug of unknown origins. Its contents looked like water and smelled like engine degreaser. Tony sipped straight from its neck while Bruce watched his tea steep. The silence between them, while rare, wasn't uncomfortable. Tony still felt the need to break it.

“I’m going to suit up and head back to New York on my own. I think if I stay here any longer, I’m going to punch Fury in the face.” He mimed throwing a right cross. “Pow! Right in the eye patch. Bastard.” He shook his head and gulped down the liquor.

“If you’re serious about piloting the armor, maybe you should ease up. You haven’t eaten, and that smells like it packs a punch.”

Tony shrugged and laughed. “You think I’d get in that flying deathtrap sober?” He took another slug from the bottle.

“Tony,” Bruce’s voice was soft. He put his hand over Tony’s wrist. “We need you to get to New York in one piece. I…”

“I’m being selfish,” Tony admitted.

“Constantly. What I’m trying to say is I consider you a friend. I could use a friend. Natasha and I have been, ah…”

“Discreet,” Tony supplied. “But there’s not a lot that happens in the tower that I don’t know about. How long have you been seeing each other?”

Bruce looked surprised for about half a second. “You know so much about what goes on in the tower, you tell me.”

“Six months?” Tony guessed.

“Ten. Well, really, it started almost immediately after…after the Shwarma. She seemed like she was always there. Every time I’d turn around, there she was. We didn't have a date until almost two months after the battle for Manhattan.”

***

_Ten Months Earlier: The first date_

“What are you doing here?” Bruce’s voice was calm, but his expression told of annoyance and confusion.

“Spying,” Natasha replied with a sly grin. Her tone was light but not quite joking.

“Tony’s going to love that.”

“I’m not spying on Tony.”

“Is that why it seems like you’re following me?” Bruce looked at her over the rims of his glasses. 

Natasha nodded. “Because I am. You’re very observant.”

“Tell Fury…” Bruce began.

“Fury didn't send me,” Natasha replied. “Not this time.”

“Tell him anyway, I’m not going to submit to any of his testing.” He looked at her for a beat. “Or yours. Don’t…don’t test me.”

“You’re afraid of him,” she observed.

“Fury? Hardly.” Bruce scoffed. He was a little intimidated by Fury, by SHIELD, by all of their big guns and high-tech labs. He wasn't afraid.

“Of the Other Guy.” Natasha’s voice was soft, her eyes dark and unreadable. 

Bruce paused again. “ Aren't you?” The only answer was a shrug and a brief refusal to meet his eyes. “He…I could have killed you on the Helicarrier. Almost did. If Thor hadn’t intervened when he did, I would have squished you.”

“I don’t live on hypotheticals, Dr. Banner.” She made eye contact then with an intense gleam in her eyes. “No what-ifs. You already apologized for that.”

“It wasn't much of an apology,” Bruce answered. “FTD doesn't offer ‘sorry I almost turned you into red paste’ bouquets. I checked.”

“You want to offer some grand gesture in apology? How about dinner? Tonight around seven?”

“Dinner?” Bruce sounded baffled by the idea. 

“You eat dinner, don’t you?” Natasha smirked. “I’ll let you choose the place.”

Some part of his brain screamed that it was a trap. “I’ll pick you up at a quarter ‘til.” 

The smirk turned into a smile. “Sounds great. What should I wear?”

“Nothing.” Bruce mentally kicked himself. “I mean, nothing special. Casual.” Smooth, Banner, real smooth. He coughed, suddenly choking on absolutely nothing. “You look fine right now.”

Natasha glanced down at her cargo pants and t-shirt, covered in paint splatters from helping with the work upstairs. She bit back a chuckle. She didn't want Bruce to think she was laughing at him. “I’ll see you tonight.” 

Upstairs, Natasha shed the filthy work clothes and began laying out things for dinner. She had about three hours to get ready; it had never taken her that long. She picked out a Kelly green skirt that would fall just above her knees, a summery white blouse and white leather sandals with a slight heel. 

The skirt was loose enough to hide a knife on her thigh with ease, and she added her knife and sheath, as well as a thigh strap to the assortment. She selected a silver necklace consisting of a dainty chain and a simple cross that hid a dose of poison. She arranged the clothes on the bed, with the sandals on the floor at the foot and laid the necklace on her nightstand, stretching the chain so it wouldn't knot. She added a pale pink bra that wouldn't show through the white blouse and a pair of white cotton panties to the stack on the bed. 

Natasha smiled; she always liked having a plan. She liked even better when everything went according to it. Satisfied with her selections, she headed to the bathroom for a long, hot shower. 

Somewhere between calling the restaurant for a reservation and spending half an hour trying to iron his khakis, Bruce realized that he was going on a date. He finally resorted to hanging the trousers – and his polo shirt for good measure – on the back of the bathroom door while he showered, hoping the steam would sort them out. When Natasha opened her door to him at 6:45, he suddenly wished he’d tried harder with the iron. 

Natasha smiled when she saw Bruce. His blue polo shirt and freshly pressed khakis looked more like Steve Rogers than himself but they fit well enough she knew they weren’t borrowed. He smiled back at her shyly. 

“There’s a cab waiting downstairs, are you ready?” he asked.

“I am,” Natasha replied, brushing a strand of hair out of her face with a delicate finger. “Where are we going? Or is it a surprise?”

“There’s a little Peruvian restaurant a couple blocks from here,” Bruce answered. “Is that alright?”

“That’s something new, for me anyway. I like an adventure.”

“I’ll bet,” Bruce murmured, mostly to himself. He caught her smiling at him again and realized she’d heard him. Bruce felt his cheeks flush a little. 

The cab ride was short. The restaurant was small, not crowded, and he and Natasha were lead to their table immediately. As he’d requested, it was a booth with a view of the entrance and not too much foot traffic. The food was hot and savory and filling. They talked about travel quite a bit, places they’d both been and a handful of places neither of them had been. 

“Did you want to order dessert?” Bruce offered.

“There’s a frozen yogurt shop between here and the tower. What do you say to walking back? I’ll buy dessert,” Natasha made her counter-offer. Bruce nodded, smiling and relaxed. He settled up the bill for dinner. 

“I’m beginning to think this was more of an excuse for evening out, but I do want to apologize for the incident on the helicarrier,” Bruce said softly as he gathered his change from the table and counted out a tip. 

“Proceed,” Natasha replied, giving him her full attention.

“I’m sorry that I hurt you, that I frightened you, that…that I lost control.” He looked at her solemnly. “I wish I could promise that it won’t happen again, but I think we both know better.”

“I forgive you.” There was no caveat, no jest, nothing but simple absolution. Bruce couldn't remember a time when he’d felt it before. They walked slowly in the direction of the tower, Natasha guiding them towards dessert as promised. 

She slipped her hand into his as they strolled and her fingers were cold. The temperature had dropped quite a bit while they’d been eating dinner.

“Are you warm enough?” Bruce asked, kicking himself for not bringing a jacket. Natasha moved closer, snuggling against his arm, hip to hip.

“I don’t mind the cold that much,” she answered.

Her warm, soft breast pressing against his arm was damned distracting and Bruce suddenly found he didn’t mind the cold one bit. “This is nice,” he said, breaking the silence after a lengthy pause. “Maybe, maybe we could do it again sometime.”

***

_Present day_

Tony took a sip of the coffee and grimaced. “Shit, I know why the doctor puts so much sugar in this.” He cleared his throat and set the cup down. “So, does she know how you feel about her? Natasha, not the doctor.”

Bruce shook his head, rolling his eyes inwardly at Tony’s attention span. “Tony, I don’t even know how I feel about her.”

“Oh.” Tony blinked at him. “Well…you’re in love.” He spoke as though explaining something very simple to someone he assumed would already know. Bruce shook his head again, more forcefully, and opened his mouth to be interrupted by Tony. “Okay, okay,” Tony backpedaled. “You like her. A lot?”

Bruce nodded his assent. 

“And you’re attracted to her?”

“God yes.”

“You respect her?”

“Of course.”

“You care; obviously, you’re concerned for her well-being. The fact that she’s hurt right now is…it’s hurting you.”

“If she doesn't…” Bruce began.

“Don’t.” Tony interjected with a hand wave. “Let’s not start down that road. She’s going to make it. She’s going get better; she’s going to be fine. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right?”

Bruce shook his head.

“Trust me, buddy,” Tony said. “She’s going to come out of this fucking invincible.” He paused. “You feel like you could tell her anything?” At Bruce’s nod, Tony pressed onward. “So, you trust her?” This was the million dollar question.

“I do.” Bruce replied. “Who she works for is a different matter but Natasha I trust.” 

“She’s not who she works for. And Fury’s not as bad as he wants everyone to think. I think. Does she make you happy?”

“Yeah,” Bruce said sadly. 

“So, affection, attraction, trust, respect, concern…” Tony started ticking off his points on his fingers.

“I love her.” Bruce’s voice was no more than a whisper. He looked at Tony with sad, lost eyes. “Now what?”

“When we get home, I want to have dinner, you, me, and Pepper. Pepper…well, she knows a thing or two about being in love with someone who can’t seem to stay out of danger. She might have some good advice. Before we leave, I want you to find that doctor, Dr. Candelabra-”

“Khandalavala,” Bruce corrected.

“Yes, her, and thank her for taking care of Nat, and ask her when Natasha can have visitors. And the minute that someone will let you in that room, go in there and you talk to her. Even if she’s not awake.” Tony checked the time on his phone. “But first, you need to at least try to sleep.”

Bruce nodded, yawning. He’d slept for about 20 minutes after transforming from the other guy back into himself but when the transport arrived at the helicarrier, they’d woke him to transfer ships. He’d gone straight to the med bay.


	2. Mind and Matter

Bruce found Thor waiting in the tiny plastic chairs outside the med bay when he awoke. The Argonaut had landed out at sea; they were about an hour from New York when Bruce joined Thor. They waited in silence for quite some time before Thor spoke.

“Do you believe Loki is too dangerous to live?”

Bruce mulled it over. “I’m probably the wrong person to ask,” he admitted at last. “I’m not comfortable making that call, especially for your family. Is there any way to communicate with Asgard from here?”

It was Thor’s turn to look pensive. “Heimdall can see and hear us, but I’m not sure he has any way to send a message to Midgard. My father has eyes and ears here as well, but no voice I am aware of.” He sighed heavily. “Odin has abandoned Loki, disowned him as a son, and it was Heimdall who gave me the blade with which Loki can be slain. But I still believe… I would mourn him if he fell.”

“You can kill a man and still mourn him after,” Bruce said softly. “I’m afraid that’s as much of an answer as I can give you.”

They lapsed into silence again, watching the doctors and nurses and orderlies come and go. The carrier had dropped anchor when they finally saw someone they recognized. Dr. Kirkpatrick paused and stared at them. 

“You fellows been there all night?”

“No,” Thor answered. “We have had rest, and sustenance, and are awaiting further news of our comrades.”

“Comrades?” Kirkpatrick muttered. “You Russian? You don’t sound Russian.”

Thor looked to Bruce for help. “He’s not Russian,” Bruce answered for him. “He’s not…from around here. Last night you seemed to think Captain Rogers was doing well…” he prompted.

“Yeah, I’m heading in to check him over and sign him out. You want to take him home?”

“I was hoping for more news on Agent Barton,” Thor replied.

“I’m waiting to talk to Agent Romanov’s doctor,” Bruce added. 

“They won’t let Barton out ‘til psych’s done with him,” Dr. Kirkpatrick advised. “We just made land, so they’ll have somebody out here right quick to start that. Who was treating Romanov?”

“Dr. Khandalavala,” Bruce answered quickly. He was fairly certain Thor would have no better luck with the name than Tony did.

“Ah, well, Dr. K’s usually an early riser. I’m surprised she’s not down here already. If I see her, I’ll let her know she’s got a visitor.”

Bruce saw Director Fury approaching behind Dr. Kirkpatrick and quickly thanked the doctor. When Dr. Kirkpatrick stepped out of the way, heading into the medical bay, Bruce observed that Fury wasn’t alone. A blonde woman walked beside the director, dressed in a pantsuit. She looked like any other young professional, except that she was wearing gloves. 

Fury didn’t pause as they walked past and Bruce couldn’t bring himself to draw their attention. The director lead the way to the room where Agent Barton was being kept, breaking only long enough to pass through a security checkpoint. Clint Barton was back on the bed, still bound, and the guards cleared out of the room as soon as Director Fury entered.

“Agent Barton,” the woman had a pleasant voice, polite and professional. “I’m Dr. Chisholm, I believe this is the first time we’ve met.”

Clint looked at her. “Can you help me?” he asked. She was younger than he’d expected and prettier, but overall looked very normal. 

“I’d like to,” she answered. “Has someone explained to you why I’m here?”

“Loki’s been messing with my mind…again. You’re, you’re a telepath, right?”

“I have what is known as tactile telepathy,” she answered, raising her gloved hand to show it to him. “I can enter a person’s mind by touching their skin. Once in your mind, I’ll be able to retrieve memories, perceive thoughts, and most significantly, detect any outside influences. I am able to alter memories and thoughts, though I will not do so today. What I am here to do is break your mind free of outside influences and alter it to prevent any future intrusions. Are you comfortable with this?”

He wasn’t. Clint really wasn’t comfortable with having anyone in his head, but Fury seemed to think this was the best way to get Loki out. He regarded Dr. Chisholm again. She certainly seemed like a better choice than Loki. If he couldn’t have his mind to himself, anyone would be better than Loki. He nodded. “I’m okay with it.”

“It should not be painful or frightening to you. You will have memories surface unbidden as I sort through your mind, thoughts and even dreams. There’s no need to be ashamed of your thoughts, your memories or deeds. You have nothing to hide, nothing to fear. Do you meditate at all? 

Clint shook his head. Dr. Chisholm reached down and pulled what looked like a small white radio from her bag. “This is just a white noise machine.” She had a very reassuring manner. She turned the device on and it made a low humming sound like a fan. “I’m going to remove my gloves now. You will feel my hand on your arm when we begin. Close your eyes when you’re ready.” 

Clint closed his eyes. He focused on his breathing the way he did before taking aim. It was the only calming technique he knew. He felt a warm, gentle hand on his arm. He heard Loki’s purring voice, saying that he had heart. He felt the touch of the scepter and felt its coldness permeate him. The chill didn’t dissipate. It lingered. It settled into his bones. He forgot what warmth felt like. He wanted to serve Loki. He wanted to please the god. He forgot ever wanting anything else. 

Clint jerked and twitched but there was a warm hand upon his arm. He felt that anchoring touch more than he felt the restraints. He inhaled and exhaled. He couldn’t sense her in his mind. Almost as soon as that thought occurred him, he heard her voice.

‘You would prefer to be more aware of my presence?’

Clint realized with a slight start that he hadn’t actually heard her with his ears; he couldn’t pinpoint her location from the sound of her voice. The more he thought about, the more he realized that while it was recognizably Dr. Chisholm, the voice didn’t sound quite the same. It sounded a little deeper and there was a hint of a southern accent. Alabama, he thought. 

‘Enterprise, Alabama,’ the voice confirmed. ‘You’re quite good. You may call me Sara.’

Clint focused on thinking at her. ‘Am I distracting you?’

‘No, it’s fine. I want you to be comfortable. As I understand, we’re going to be working together beyond today. Fury—Director Fury wants me to help counsel you through what has transpired.’ Sara’s thought voice overlapped with itself. Clint imagined that was what happened when you would normally edit your thoughts before speaking them but inside his own head, everything seemed to broadcast immediately. ‘That’s correct,” Sara told him. ‘There’s no real filter when communication is mind-to-mind.’

Clint relaxed further; he could see her, faintly, shadowy and strange. It reminded him of the images he saw when he closed his eyes after staring at something bright. She was moving through corridors, opening doors, as though looking for something. There was no pain, but he had an almost feverish sensation of being both hot and cold at the same time.

‘I’m almost done here.’ Sara assured him. ‘You can open your eyes, it’s over.’ 

He felt her hand lift from his arm, the warmth lingering against his skin. He opened his eyes and realized his body was stiff from being in one position for a long time. 

“Director Fury, as you requested, I’ve removed all vestiges of Loki’s control. It appears that after his first intrusion on Agent Clinton Francis Barton’s mind, he left the equivalent of an open window, so that he could re-enter at will without resorting to the same force he used the first time.”

“You closed it?”

“And locked it. And nailed it shut. And painted over the seams.” 

Clint let out a shaky sigh. 

“I’ve reinforced his mind in every way that I can.” Dr. Chisholm smiled. 

“Will it be enough?” Clint asked, interrupting Fury, who seemed poised to ask something similar.

“I would advise you to contact Professor Xavier or Dr. Grey. Have one of them try to enter his mind. I’d like to see Agent Barton again in a few days, at my office. “As she spoke, she began unbuckling the restraints.

“I take it he’s not a danger to himself or others?” Fury observed.

“No more so than any of your other agents,” Dr. Chisholm replied with slight disdain. 

“I’ll have someone set up an appointment for him,” the director replied, ignoring her tone. “Thank you for your assistance.”

The psychiatrist nodded. “How’s the investigation going?”

The atmosphere shifted. There was a tension that Clint wanted no part of; he reached across his body to unfasten the other restraint. 

“We’ll never stop looking.” Fury chose his words carefully. Sara nodded again. Clint suddenly understood why Natasha disliked the woman so intensely. She seemed kind enough, but there was something off about her. Something dangerous and strange lurked beneath the calm, professional demeanor. It went beyond the telepathy, she was careful with that.

“Wednesday will probably be best, but call right away,” Sara advised. She looked at Clint. “Take care.” She packed up the white noise machine and Clint was surprised by how quiet the room was without it. Fury went to the door and signaled one of the guards to escort Dr. Chisholm out. 

“We’re going to transfer you to a detention room until we can confirm Dr. Chisholm’s assessment that you’re no longer a danger,” Fury told Clint. He led Agent Barton to a cell in the detention area. The door clicked closed and Clint was alone. He was free from the medical personnel and guards. He was caged but at least he had some solitude. He sat on the bed and pulled his legs into his chest, sobbing into his knees.


	3. Safe and Sound

“You got a visitor,” the guard proclaimed brusquely. The prisoner, a slight man with graying light brown hair, looked up in surprise.

“I wasn't expecting any visitors. If it’s my lawyer, tell that greedy mick I’m not paying him for an hour of his time unless I call him.”

“It’s not your lawyer, Mr. Hammer,” the guard replied, unlocking the cell. “It’s your brother.”

“My…brother?” Justin Hammer blinked in confusion.

“That a problem?”

“No,” he answered quickly. “I just…haven’t seen my brother in years. Years and years.” He followed the guard down the corridor, ignoring the other inmates as his mind raced. He didn't have a brother. Could someone have sent an assassin after him? 

Justin Hammer didn't recognize the man in the visitation room. He certainly wasn't handsome enough to pass for his brother. “Hey, bro, long time no see.” He eyed the stranger cautiously. The man was thin, pale, with long raven hair slicked back from his high forehead and dark eyes that glittered like precious stones. There was something unsettlingly familiar about him.

“I have arranged for your release,” the man said quietly. “The case against you was little more than circumstance and ill-fortune and I have need of your assistance.”

“You want my help?” Justin said stupidly. “With what? Who are you?” he stage-whispered.

“I am a visionary, like you. We share a common thorn in our sides. I will visit with you again soon, in more comfortable surroundings.”

“You really got me out of here just to help you with…a thorn in your side?” Justin stammered.

“I am told that the enemy of my enemy is my friend.” The stranger answered.

“Who are you?”

“I am Loki.” His whispered reply sent a chill through Hammer. 

***

“Director Fury is releasing Agent Barton today,” Thor announced over breakfast. Bruce shot Tony a pointed look.

“So,” Tony said recalcitrantly, “I guess we should talk about that. Steve,” he looked at the tall blond. “You’re the one he shot; do you have any objections to him staying here?”

Steve chewed thoughtfully and swallowed. He took a sip of orange juice, stalling for him. “Well…it’s not up to just me. I mean, it shouldn't be. I… I’m not worried that he’s going to shoot me again. That telepath told Fury that Clint’s no longer under Loki’s influence and that he’s out of his reach, right?”

“Right,” Bruce was quick to agree. “What happened…he’s not to blame. He wasn’t in control of his actions.” That was the sticking point for Bruce. “You haven’t kicked me out over any of the things the other guy has done. Is this so different?”

“It is different,” Tony insisted.

“We cannot banish him from his home,” Thor objected. “He has done no wrong!”

“Nobody’s saying we should,” Tony clarified. “I want to make sure that everyone is on the same page, that we’ve had a chance to voice any concerns. I want everyone to be comfortable with him staying here.”

“He is our brother in arms,” Thor stated firmly. “His place is with us.”

“He needs our support,” Steve agreed. “What happened was awful, but it was awful for him too.”

“Tony, you know how I feel about this,” Bruce said softly. 

“Okay, does anyone know what time Fury’s letting him loose? I’m thinking we should all pile in the car, let him know that we’re united on this whole homecoming thing.” Tony forced himself on board with the majority. 

“A welcome wagon,” Bruce smiled.

“I’ll call,” Steve offered. “Agent Hill hates me the least.”

“That’s our star-spangled man with a plan,” Tony said fondly. “Always willing to take one for the team.” Steve rolled his eyes but he was on the phone with Agent Hill while Bruce was still loading the dishwasher.

“She says around four, I guess there’s some paperwork to file first,” Steve reported. “And also that he’ll still be reporting to Agent Wallace.”

“What? No, boo,” Tony responded. “There’s no more room at the inn.”

“Agent Wallace doesn't have to live here, Tony, but we will be seeing more of him. He’s the team’s official liaison with SHIELD,” Steve reminded the billionaire.

“Meaning we’re lucky to have gotten a reprieve for this long,” Bruce added from the sink. 

“Whatever,” Tony said. “Someone drag me out of the lab around three thirty.” He headed to the elevator. He’d barely slept since Colombia, plagued by dreams that ended in gunfire and blood and began with the taste of brackish water. His temper was shot, Pepper was out of town and the liquor cabinet was in danger of running out. Bruce kept insisting on drawing parallels between the Hulk, whom Tony thought of as a harmless overgrown frat boy, and Clint’s actions under Loki’s control. It was getting on Tony’s last nerve. 

Bruce looked at Steve and Thor. “We’re going to have to revisit this,” he said.

“Why does Tony wish to banish Clint?” Thor asked. “It is Loki who is responsible for the harm done to Natasha and the others. Our friend must be consumed by guilt, we should lift his burden, not add to it.”

“Absolutely,” Steve agreed. “Maybe Tony will come around once he sees Clint.”

“I’m not talking about Tony.” Bruce finished loading the dishwasher. “It’s still going to be a while, more than a month, but eventually, hopefully, Natasha’s going to be able to come home.”

The other two looked at him silently.

“And there’s going to be a much more awkward version of this conversation.”

“None of us have been able to talk to Clint since all this happened,” Steve pointed out. “We’re assuming that he’ll want to stay.”

“He has nowhere else to go. He could get an apartment, SHIELD has some housing,” Bruce replied. “But no matter what the psychiatrist says, a lot of the other agents don’t trust him. People need someone to blame, Clint’s convenient.”

“Well,” Steve said. “He’s being released. He’s not being allowed to return to active duty yet.” 

“What difference does that make?” Thor asked.

“It doesn't mean anything except that he’s probably traumatized with guilt,” Bruce answered. “We need to make this a safe place for him.”

***

Clint was paler and thinner than he’d been the last time they saw him. Dark circles beneath his eyes spoke of sleepless nights. He seemed genuinely surprised to see a cadre of Avengers waiting by a limo when he walked out of SHIELD’s New York headquarters. Even Jane and Darcy had shown up.

“Pepper would be here,” Tony explained, “But she’s out of town. And Happy would be here but…we ran out of room in the limo.” 

“You ready to come home?” Steve asked with a kind smile. Clint’s eyes flashed from Tony to Steve, then to Bruce, Thor and the ladies. 

“You’re all here…to take me to the tower?”

“Unless you want to stop somewhere on the way,” Bruce said. 

Clint shook his head. “No. I want to go home.”

Tony drove with Bruce riding shotgun, which left Clint to pile into the back with Steve, Thor, Jane and Darcy. He sort of knew them from his time in New Mexico but hadn't realized they were in New York.

“How long have you two been in town?”

“A couple weeks,” Darcy answered. “Fury hauled us out here to work on the Bridge project under his supervision. And funding, which has been nice.” Jane nodded her agreement.

“He called us up, wanted me to interpret a few unusual events, one of which was a match the Bifrost/tesseract events.”

“A couple weeks?” Steve frowned. “When, exactly, did he contact you?”

“Um, the twelfth?” Darcy replied, looking to her cell phone for confirmation. “No, wait, he called on the eleventh, we flew out on the thirteenth.”   
“How long are you guys staying?” Clint asked, mostly to make conversation.

“No clue, I’m not sure we’re even really needed,” Darcy said.

“But the lab is really nice, I’ll stay as long as Fury lets me,” Jane added quickly, giving Thor’s leg a quick squeeze. It spiraled Jane into a long-winded and largely one-sided discussion of her research that filled the silence comfortably on the drive home.

***

_Six Months Earlier_

Bruce was waiting just inside the doors of the concert hall. He held two tickets in his hand, checking the clock in the lobby. The kid at the ticket window couldn’t have been old enough to drink and kept giving Bruce sympathetic looks. 

“They’re gonna close the doors in, like, two minutes, man,” the kid said. “I could hold the other ticket here, but your date won’t be able to get in ‘til intermission if she misses the curtain.”

“She’s here,” Bruce’s voice was almost reverent. She was there. Natasha, dodging raindrops and a taxi cab as she darted towards the building, was there. She shook the water out of her curls in the breezeway, looking radiant and composed as always. 

“Sorry,” she said, quickly kissing Bruce at the corner of his mouth. “Work was murder.”

“Literally?” Bruce looked worried as he handed her a ticket. 

“Not quite, I’ll tell you what I can over dessert, let’s get in there.” 

The concert had been Bruce’s idea, but Natasha had agreed with gusto. They listened in silence, and she vanished during intermission, returning just before the music began again. She put his hand on her knee and rubbed her thumb lightly across his knuckles. Bruce didn't notice as much of the music in the second half as she gradually urged his hand higher on her leg. It was a testament to his great self-control that he was able to stand for an ovation at the end and walk out without holding his jacket in front of him. 

As the concert let out, Bruce’s discomfort with the crowd increased. A large group of people sitting quietly was okay, but once they got to moving and talking, it was a bit overwhelming. 

“The rain’s let up,” Natasha said. “It’ll be quicker to walk than wait for a cab.” She pulled him out a side exit. The rain had let up, but it hadn't stopped. They walked through a cold drizzle. The water seemed to be hanging in the air rather than falling from the sky and Bruce’s umbrella wasn't of much use but they huddled beneath it anyway. Bruce was beginning to doubt Natasha’s claim about walking being quicker when she tugged him through a door.

The place was tiny. There were four booths along one wall. On the opposite wall was a bar with six stools, a door marked as a restroom and a swinging door that appeared to lead to the kitchen. There was a window behind the bar so the bartender could pass orders into the kitchen. Other than the bartender, it was deserted. The bartender looked up when they walked in and smiled broadly.

“Natasia!” She exclaimed. 

“Hola, Carolina,” Natasha responded with a smile.

“Margarita!” the bartender shouted. “Natasia esta aqui, con un hombre!”

A short, heavyset woman scuttled out of the kitchen. She put her hand to her chest in a ‘bless my soul’ gesture. “Un hombre guapo,” she gasped. “Natasha, such secrets you keep.” She ushered them to the booth furthest from the entrance. “Who is this?”

“This is Bruce.” Natasha managed to look shy as she introduced him. “We just stopped by for dessert.”

“I have just the thing,” Margarita replied. She hurried back into the kitchen. Behind the bar, Carolina was wiping down glasses and pretending not to watch Bruce and Natasha. 

“So…work?” Bruce prompted. “Rough day at the office?”

Natasha sighed. “I don’t know. Everything went fine. We got what we needed, no one died. I should be celebrating.”

“But?”

Natasha wrapped her right arm over her chest, grasping her left arm as though she were cold. Her gaze followed the grain of the wood in the table top. “It took longer than it should have. We didn't have all the intel; it almost got messy but didn't. We were lucky. I hate relying on luck.”

Bruce nodded. “Hate wondering what happens if your luck runs out,” he said softly. Natasha looked up at him.

“You worry?” she asked. “About me?”

“I care,” Bruce answered. “About you.”

Dessert was a nearly softball-sized scoop of fried ice cream drizzled with honey. It came with two spoons and two mugs of something frothy brown liquid. Bruce picked up one of the mugs and tilted it, staring at the contents curiously. Judging by the way it clung to the sides of the mug, it was hot chocolate. Good hot chocolate, made with real chocolate and cream. Natasha picked up a spoon and stirred the other mug. She pulled out the spoon with a light coating of the liquid and dug into the ice cream. 

The heat of the drink made the spoon slide in easily and left a thin ribbon of chocolate on the fried crust. Bruce copied her. The ice cream was a rich vanilla; Bruce guessed it was made on site. 

“Chili in the hot chocolate,” he remarked. “Nice touch.”

“You know, I care about you too,” Natasha said softly. “I hate thinking that I might lie to you. I might tell you I’m going away for a few days and never come back.”

Bruce felt a chill that had nothing to do with ice cream or the cold rain outside. Every mission she’d gone on since their first date, told him she had to go away for a while. Her return was implied. 

“I try to keep my house in order,” Natasha continued. “I don’t fear death. I don’t welcome it the way I would have ten years ago…” She met his eyes. “When Barton brought me in, he was supposed to have killed me. I knew he was there. I knew why. I knew he had a shot. I gave him that opportunity. He passed it by.”

“Suicide by SHIELD agent,” Bruce remarked. 

“There are worse ways to go, it’s quick, more so if your killer’s a good shot,” Natasha justified. “ I've had an awful lot of fun being alive since then. Especially recently.”

“Oh?” Bruce was suddenly coy. “What’s happened recently?”

Natasha looked at the remains of the ice cream, melting in its bowl. “Let’s get out of here.”

“You have a pressing engagement?” Bruce teased.

“I’m going to walk you home through the rain, then get you out of your wet clothes.” 

***

_Present day_

Bruce sat at Natasha’s bedside, reading a dog-eared copy of Pale Blue Dot and listening to the steady whoosh and beep of the machines that surrounded her. He couldn't pinpoint what caused him to look up at her at that moment, but he saw her eyelashes fluttering and the movement of her eyes behind the lids. He marked his place and put the book down and leaned in closer. 

“Natasha,” he said softly. “It’s Bruce. You’re in a SHIELD medical facility. You’re back in New York. You've been unconscious for…” he quickly tracked the dates in his head. “twelve days. Thor and Steve and Tony are at the tower. You’re safe.”

At his last word, her eyes opened slowly. She took in her surroundings and finally focused on him. She reached up slowly and touched the tube coming out of her mouth. 

“You won’t be able to speak, let me get you a pencil and paper.” He rustled around the table by her bed for a moment. “Here, wait, let me…” He fumbled a bit more and managed to bring up a tray that slid across the bed at chest height. “You’ll…can you write with your left?”

 

Natasha stared down at her right hand, wrapped in gauze. She reached up with her left and he handed her the pencil. Spreading the paper on the tray, Bruce held it steady.  
‘LOKI’ she spelled.

“Still at large. We’re looking,” he assured her.

‘BARTON?” Her hand slipped as she made the question mark and the punctuation took up half the page.

“He’s…alive. He’s at the tower. They made sure Loki couldn't…mess with him anymore.” 

Natasha nodded faintly. Bruce leaned over and kissed her very gently on the forehead. He lingered a moment in the scent of her hair. “I love you,” he exhaled the words into the warmth of her skin. When he pulled back, she was looking at him. Her eyes were full of fear and pain and awful things he wished he could take away. 

She gripped the pencil tightly and focused on the paper. Her brow knit in concentration. “I LOVE YOU.”


End file.
